Zephyr
by Kiyla
Summary: AU - What if a just-coming-to-age Aragorn, as part of his service to the rangers, was sent to Rohan to learn the finer arts of horseback riding? What if Thranduil revokes Legolas's immortality in a brash moment? A/L, pos. NC-17 in later chapters.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own nigh the boys, nor the scenery.. naught do I own - everything. In other words: Don't Sue Just 'Cause It Turned You On.  
  
Summary: AU - What if a just-coming-to-age Aragorn, as part of his service to the rangers, was sent to Rohan to learn the finer arts of horseback riding? What if Tharanduil revokes Legolas's immortality in a brash moment? Will be A/L slash a fair bit later on. Might up the rating. Maybe.  
  
Notes: 'blah' is blah spoken in Elvish - "blah" is blah spoken in Common - |blah| is blah spoken in High Rohan. I don't go for translations, or the actual words - /I/ don't like it when I have to look something up every five minutes, so I won't suffer ya'll it, either.  
  
---  
  
  
Prologue  
  
  
Legolas Greenleaf passed through the gates of Rivendell, elven face starker than even it's perfect paleness; his white mare floated along with no guidance from her rider, following a route she alone knew, before stopping at the entrance to Elrond's palace.  
  
Apparently in a daze - shocked - the bloodied, ripped, haggard prince dismounted automatically, turning and walking up the broad staircase. Elves stopped and stared as he passed, but he was oblivious - blue eyes were vacant, as he strode past the guards...  
  
...and right into Elrond.  
  
The half-elf caught Legolas as he fell, worry creasing his brow. 'Legolas!' he shouted. 'What has come of you, prince of Mirkwood?'  
  
The young elf stared blankly at him, before his brow creased. 'Thranduil.. Mirkwood.. attacked..' was all he managed before passing out.  
  
Elrond stared down at him in horror - elves had a resilience from within, and he knew that Legolas was no weakling; what caused him trama enough to faint dead away?  
  
The only person left in the prince's entourage stepped up. A hardy, female warrior, she looked shaken herself; however, she managed to kneel to Elrond. 'Sir... Thranduil set a trap for Legolas. My prince had to leave; Thranduil beat him viciously, for no reason at all. Elrond.. His own bodyguards,' her voice broke. 'Sir... I do not think that Prince Legolas is safe in Mirkwood.' Her voice grew somber; 'The King thinks he is dead.' Eerie gold eyes shone upwards; 'And I think it is better that way.' 


	2. Legolas

Legolas  
  
  
Disclaimer can be found in 'Prologue'.  
  
Notes: This chapter is a bit hurried. And why a dwarf was guarding an elven prince is this: Elrond, at this point, has a trade with a certain clan of dwarfs, and he doesn't even trust his own guards to guard Legolas - a visiting dwarf is much more likely to be less inclined to attempt to kill an elf for political reasons.  
  
  
  
Legolas woke up, days later. He jolted up, and slipped into common at the sight of a short.. being. Hairy, fuzzy... Hmmm. "Who are you?"  
  
The dwarf balefully glared at the prince. "I am Sain, son of Piawn. And, apparently, your guard for the evening."  
  
"Guard?" The blonde looked vaguely suspicious - and fearful.  
  
"Yes, guard. There has been no attacks made to you, and Priynel made it assured that your father thinks you dead... But Elrond demands a guard."  
  
"And then, pray tell, Master Sain, where is my bodyguard?"  
  
"Prianela is catching up with Elrond."  
  
Legolas sighed, and carefully eased back. "I need to talk to Elrond."  
  
And so, the dwarf sent for him; the lord of the Last Homely Home arrived, dismissed Sain, and sank down in his spot. "Legolas..." he began.  
  
"I know you have many questions, Elrond. I will start my story.. from the beginning."  
  
  
And so, Legolas spoke of how foolishly rebellious he had been, from his birth to recent history. When Thranduil finally grew tired of his rebellion, and requested that he marry a long childhood friend - and, ironically, his closest friend and bodyguard, Priynel - and the young prince had swore at him that he would never, the king's last string had been plucked. In a fit of anger, the elf had beat Legolas and called off his - and Priynel's - immortality, shattering both soulstones in rage. Coldly, he announced that the prince could live only if he successfully ran the gauntlet of fire and ice, the gauntlet of Mirkwood's forests. Presumed to have died in a fire, the mortal elf had to sacrifice two close friends and run with his last remaining bodyguard - again with strong irony, for his remaining bodyguard was the Elven warrior that he had so strongly refused to wed. Priynel understood, however, and agreed - she had no wish to marry her longtime friend, and was repulsed at the mere idea of thinking of him in those terms. They escaped to Rivendell, and from there on Elrond knew the story.  
  
'I see,' Elrond spoke after a long moment of silence. 'Then we shall have to send you away from here.. far from here.'  
  
Legolas' eyes flashed open. 'Elrond,' he started, fear evident in his tone.  
  
'We expect a delegation from Mirkwood in less than a weak, fair Prince thereof.' He took a deep breath. 'I will send you to my youngest son, and one of my closest allies.'  
  
'Lothlorien?' Greenleaf inquired, a slight hopeful tint to his voice. He had long since pined to see the golden woods of the Lady.  
  
'Nay... to Rohan you will travel.'  
  
'To Men?' The younger elf was repulsed at the mere idea. 'Nay, I would rather stay with my own kind and be killed than to travel and sup with barbarians.'  
  
'You have no choice. You have sought my protection from your father.. and your protection I shall grant. You will seek out Ysilt's rider, in Rohan - my youngest son, Estel, is his Rider, and a man - and your protection. While you "travel and sup with barbarians", I will seek the ways of the Valar to see about reversing your predicament. Until then, obey me, for I am much wiser than thee.' With that, the Elven king rose and departed from the room.  
  
--  
  
Five days later, the arrangements were set. Elrond didn't even trust Galadrial or Lothlorien's golden woods - nor did he trust the land of men southernwards.  
  
However, he needed to send him to a place that no elf would dream of going.  
  
So, being sane of mind and sensible of heart, he sent him to Rohan.  
  
So, Legolas' mare, the beautiful Nientwil, was tacked up and loaded with provisions. Priynel went with her charge, so as to keep out of sight as well -- after all, she was supposed to be dead, ashes, and gone. 


	3. Zephyr

Disclaimer and such can be found in Prologue.  
  
  
Notes: As for the ever-so-helpful Anonymous reviewers - thank you, I /do/ know such information, but I've cared in this story to take certain.. artistic liberties, shall we say? Yes. Go back to the summary. Look at the first two letters. It's an AU. This means Alternate Universe, and it means that some things are rather Out-Of-Cannon. You don't like it? You can click that 'back' button just as well as read this story. ^^  
  
Notes2: If anything is out of place with Rohan, /please/ review and tell me. The loss-of-immortality-by-a-full-elf was intentional (as is the Choosing of Horses of Old), but I rather like *constructive* critism. :)   
  
  
--  
  
  
Legolas steered Nientwil through the fields at a light canter. A group of roughened Rohan riders made him look resplendant with his fine golden hair and light features, and the brown and green attire of Mirkwood. Despite all of his conflicts with his sire, the elf was fiercely loyal to the lands that would, hopefully, someday be his; however, it was evident that the young man was shaken, despite how well he looked - his entire mannerisms were shaken, though proud. He had already been in the custody of Rohanian men for a week, now, and was getting used to the ways they spoke, acted, and thought. With a longsuffering sigh, he watched as yet another rider joined the pack of riders.  
  
|Hail,| called Priynel. |Who comes?|  
  
|Sanel, rider of the Mark, loyal to the king.|  
  
|Then place yourself among your ranks - we shall break for the night soon.|  
  
|We shall, shall we?| teased the captain of the band - a tall, lean man who went by the name of Eqil.  
  
|Yes, we shall,| Riyn replied stiffly. |And you should not bother yourself with finding a location.. over there will do.| A long-fingered hand was gestured over at a flat expanse of plains.  
  
So, they broke formation, set up camp, and had a lively fire going before the sun set - but just barely. The scouts brought back a brace of hare and a small hart, and along with vegetables they stored in saddlebags, ate the traditional plains-dinner of Rohan.  
  
Legolas was unaccustomed to this type of dinner - long, twisted pieces of metal were produced, and meat and vegetables were speared on the skewers and roasted in the fire.  
  
However, with travelling bread and fresh water, it made a filling and enjoyable meal - and Priynel would never admit it, but she enjoyed the sheer fun of alternating meat and different vegetables, and roasting them.  
  
Over the roasting, the riders began to speak of their favorite topic: which horse was the best of the land.  
  
Priynel was the first to swiftly observe that Legolas's mount, considered the best of Mirkwood, was beautiful and strong enough to easily beat any Rohan mount.  
  
|If you wish to be ignorant and blindsighted, be sure to continue that thought,| a glib tongue riprosted. |It would be Zephyr.|  
  
|Or Wyrd,| the late arrival announced, giving a nod towards Eqil's strong bay mount.  
  
|I fear that Wyrd is strong of body and even stronger of heart, but couldn't hold a hoof to Zephyr,| Eqil confessed. |And now that Zephyr has chosen his Rider...|  
  
'What's so good with this Zephyr creature?' Legolas finally interrupted, blue eyes bright as they shifted about, landing finally on the azure eyes of Eqil.  
  
Eqil gave a hearty chuckle at the elvish words - for he knew, as they all did, that Legolas could understand them quite well, but couldn't speak a lick of Rohan. 'Zephyr is the greatest that this land has ever seen. He has proved himself wild, however - running wild races with the best of Rohan as of old, beating them handily, but also untamable to those who cannot commune with animals. I am sure that you or the elvish beauty you travel with could have riden him, but he has now chosen his Rider and will not let anyone but the one he Chose ride.'  
  
Priynel, unnerved by being called beautiful, inched forwards. |I thought that Rohan's horses were no different than any others? What of this choosing you speak of, Captain?|  
  
|The horses of old Chose their mounts... for they could speak to those who were so inclined to listen. Zephyr's dam was the last of the mounts of old, and he was destined to be the king's mount. However, the king could not tame him - not the best rider among us could even throw a blanket over that wild back. He is a grand looking horse, and speaks infrequently... however, he recently crossed the path of his current rider, and Chose him on the spot.|  
  
  
The conversation continued, now arguing between the merits of Mithril - the name the Rohan's had bestowed Nientwil at the sight of her whitesilver coat - and Wyrd.  
  
However, Legolas was wrapped up in the story of Zephyr, his worn mind latching onto the child's fairy-tail of innocence and wild love for the single person that stole the wonderous horse's heart.  
  
The talk droned on, then settled down for sleep - the next morning broke, and they reluctantly packed up the campsite, continuing with their patrol.  
  
At midday, a lone rider galloped up, all free blonde hair and shrieks of happiness. Eqil turned Wyrd back, and Mithril rounded her haunches to stare at the approaching rider.  
  
The host of the riders raised in their stirrups, staring at the figure with animosity; a definate feeling of ominous presence fell over them, before it was broken.  
  
Still, Legolas glued his eyes, staring in shock at the approaching Man... 


	4. Estel

Disclaimers and such can be found in 'Prologue'. Reviews are much appreciated -- and much thanks to all of you positive reviewers! (I know know why some writers say they live off of feedback. ;)  
  
  
However, as the rider grew closer, Legolas realised that it was no Man. Well, technically, at least.. This rider was a woman - and not just a woman. This was Eowyn, beautiful and resplendant in her early years.  
  
|Zephyr and his rider come!| was exclaimed from the beauty astride a palamino mare.  
  
As one, the golden-haired men stared past the figure, and gave cry; their whoops filled the air, scaring even their mounts. Now looking back, Legolas remembered that nearly all of Rohan rode upon beautiful chestnuts, bays and greys - not a black horse to be seen in their midst, thanks to the Dark Lord and his evil Nazgul; however, the rider bearing down on them was astride a powerful black stallion.  
  
Nientwil - Mithril - gave a cry, her light elven-bred hooves furrowing in the dirt as she darted forwards, past Wyrd, to stare dubiously at the stallion coming.  
  
And yet, the cry still called - |Zephyr! Zephyr! Make way for Zephyr and the rider of hope!|  
  
Eowyn cried out, her high tone calling out above the rest, |Hope brings a message from the king of the Mark!|  
  
From even this distance, Legolas could see a definate difference in the rider approaching and those surrounding him. Indeed, the one arriving was much darker - his hair, though shorter than the Riders of the Mark, was still shoulder-length, and dark. His features were stouter, and yet leaner, all in one.  
  
And then, her voice came - and lulled over the riders, magic to their ears. |The King of the Mark bears news by the rider of Zephyr!|  
  
And now, Legolas's eyes shifted to glance over the stallion. He was a glorious specimin of horseflesh, indeed all of the things the riders had claimed; perfection in ultimate time and grace, confirmation nearly faultless - dished face wide, blue eyes stark against the ebon of his coat. Tail whisked along, high in the wind, as the Rider plunged forwards.  
  
'Yea, hear the words of the King of the Mark, borne by the rider of Zephyr!'  
  
Both Priynel and Legolas were jolted by the spiel of elvish - and, unlike Eqil's halting words, the rider was fluent, words flipping out with the grace of one who grew up speaking the language of Imladris or Lothlorien - or even Legolas' homeland of Mirkwood.  
  
Indeed, the one who's mouth bore the words /did/ grow up speaking the language of the Last Homely House; he departed the news that the majority of the riders were being called back to their regular regent, and he would resume with Eqil and two Riders on his border patrol.  
  
But when Eowyn and the company of Riders departed with cheerful words, leaving two figures cloaked in Rivendell's silver with Eqil, Zephyr's rider grew curious.  
  
With a halting tongue, he enquired, |Declare yourself, Riders of the Mark, to the rider of the one who speaks.|  
  
Pri reined in her mare - the lithe Isilme was no slacker in beauty and endurance, if she lacked the speed of the Rohan's horseflesh. Sidling her mare closer to Wyrd, the female Elf didn't respond.  
  
However, Legolas flipped his hood back, and stared at the silver-eyed young man in front of him - the man who fit the description that Elrond had given him of his son.  
  
"Estel?"  
  
  
(( So, what do ya'll think? Should I write more, or just give up on my first attempt at fanfic? )) 


	5. Priynel

Disclaimers and such can be read in the Prologue. ~ ... ~ indictates mindspeak, Zephyr to whomever, and ^ ... ^ indicates mindspeak, Estel to Zephyr. Note: This chapter is kinda short, and 'blah'ish. Next chapter, more stuff happens. ^^  
  
  
  
Aragorn was taken aback. Silver eyes flickered from Eqil, to Priynel, to Legolas.  
  
~ Speak, rider of mine, ~ came the clear tone: like twisted silver, gnarled as an ancient oak, the words twisted out, almost felt more than heard, the flashes of light reverberating in all of their minds. ~ /Now/ you choose to be bashful? Quite curious. ~  
  
Legolas's eyes about popped out of his head, Priynel's jaw dropped, but Eqil, apparently, was well-used to this. |Zephyr,| he chided, |Where have your manners gone?|  
  
~ Oh, yes, yes. Well, /he/ might be half-dead and lame, but I'm not, ~ the large stallion quipped. ~ Zephyr, my dear elves, am I. This one /is/ Estel, though he might not admit to it at first sight. ~  
  
'Elrond sent you,' Estel suddenly stated, anger flickering over chiseled features, 'Didn't he? To /spy/ on me! He didn't think I could accomplish this, /did/ he?'  
  
'Slow down, ye of the fast tongue,' Riyn drawled out. 'Just slow down, now. Elrond /did/ send us here, but not to spy on you.' Fastidious golden eyes implored the not-so Elvish prince. 'You are to guide us and guard us.'  
  
'Indeed,' Legolas said, over the shock of the mental telepathy. 'We have a message from him.' The fair prince of Mirkwood turned, draping Mithril's reins over the pommel of his saddle. A scroll was procured from a saddlebag, and he thrust it at Estel.  
  
The young Man didn't even tap at his mount's flanks: a mental word flickered through the Bond that they shared, and Zephyr strode forwards, so that his rider could take the scroll without looking undignified.  
  
It was unrolled, and read, quickly, by Estel, who eventually glanced up. 'How could this--'  
  
Eqil, who had kept Wyrd a fair pace away from Zephyr, finally spoke up. |I implore you, my lord, to either give us directions, lead us, or allow us to set up camp for midday meal.|  
  
|Whatever course you wish to pursue, by all means, pursue it, Eqil,| Estel replied in fluent High Rohirrim.  
  
And, thusly said, they continued to patrol the plains, as Legolas explained a little bit in depth.  
  
Priynel eventually tired of riding Isilme close to Mithril, who was unearthly jealous of any mare who was too close to Zephyr, and rode, instead, with Eqil. The young, slightly brash Man incensed her at times, but he was good company. Even if he /did/ insist on calling her 'beautiful'.  
  
They found out that they could get much more points across using plain common than anything else, and so thusly forth, reverted to using the language of Man.  
  
"Your Wyrd couldn't throw a finer baby than my Isilme could drop," Riyn arrogantly stated.  
  
"He could throw a faster one," Eqil was quick to counter. "I implore you to consider the possibility that speed might be more important than mere beauty."  
  
"My comment of finery had nothing to do with beauty, and we both know that." The elf shadowed him with a wicked eye. "Why must you bait me so?"  
  
"Because I like sparring with you, milady," the Rohirrim rider stated easily, leaning back in his endurance-specified saddle and chuckling deeply.  
  
"You're.. you're.." Riyn. reading innuendo into that comment, launched into a fit of Elvish words of Mirkwood dialect, so heavily accented the Rohan rider couldn't understand it.  
  
But Estel and Legolas, both, understood -- they stared at the Elvish warrioress in astonishment for a good long time, before Estel burst into hearty laughter, and Legolas dared to try a smile. "Why, Priynel, even /I/ had no idea you had so much knowledge of orc's lineage."  
  
Estel, red-faced and wheezing, looked up, stared at Riyn for a long moment, and burst into more gales of laughing. Between heavy bursts of laughter, he wheezed out, "...what got... /me/... was the thought of... Eqil half.. horse!"  
  
Eqil colored. "I am /not/ made up half of a horse's ass," he stated when Zephyr himself dared to explain. "And to hear such language from what I assumed was a lady.." He scowled at Priynel, and even Legolas laughed.  
  
Privately, Zephyr commented to Estel, ~ You enjoy his laugh, ~, contemplatively.  
  
^ He laughs little, even for a stoic prince of Mirkwood. ^  
  
~ Well. I will make sure he laughs more, ~ the tall, muscled stallion stated stoutly.  
  
^ That would be enjoyable, ^ Estel amiably agreed.  
  
Privately, the stallion schemed, thought, and planned. This would be a.. most interesting trip, he decided.  
  
A most interesting trip. 


	6. Thranduil

This chapter's dedicated to the anonymous reviewer who signs by the name 'Reina' -- you brightened my day and killed my writer's block. Thank you. ;)  
Notes: Quickie. This /is/ an AU, just to remind ya'll. I've read and seen too many Bad-Galadrial fics for ya'll to come down on me hard for the semi-cliche, semi-out-of-this-world stuff in this chapter, a'ight? Thranduil's insane, by the way, if you haven't guessed. Literally insane.  
Disclaimers And Stuff Can Be Found In "Prologue". Enjoy. ^.^  
  
~  
  
  
Setting: Thranduil's Court  
  
  
'HE'S /WHAT/?'  
  
Thranduil was incensed. The elven king was... irate. Pushed to a point in his anger that even Sauron himself would cower by the twisted, dark expression written across high cheekbones, he shot up from his throne, and stalked.  
  
'I did /not/ make a deal with Sauron on my own soul for him to go romping about, playing with horses, /living/,' he growled to the elven warrior that had bore the news.  
  
The poor warrior stood as stoic as he could, but one could see the sporastic twitch along one eyelid. He was scared. Terrified, even, by the sight of the dark rage that piled out.  
  
'I did /not/! Do you /hear/ me, or are you just a piece of scenery, elfling?'  
  
'I think it would be rather hard not to hear you, /sir/.'  
  
Thranduil's eyes half-closed in anger. 'Do you dare to mock me, boy?'  
  
'I am no boy. I have served at your table longer than most,' the elf replied stiffly. Dark-haired, his pointed ears slanted back more than typical: green eyes were dark against fair skin. He was much darker than most elves tended to be... much darker. The elf, himself, had sworn allegiance to Legolas: he attempted to hide his contempt at Thranduil's tyrant practices, and trigger-happy wicked bargains with the Dark Master, biding his time until Gandalf could figure out just /exactly/ what happened to cause a /full/elf/ to lose his immortality... and even if he had lost his immortality. The only real way to see was to attempt to kill him, and Legolas had already had far too many such experiences at Thranduil's hand.  
  
The elf -- the dark elf -- in question was called by the name of Riloi.  
  
'You would be wise to not be on my bad side, boy,' Thranduil scoffed, fury interlacing his tones into a deathly threat.  
  
Riloi brought himself up to full height, and stared out stoicly, blankly, private thoughts buried deep. Some of the elves that were enslaved -- for there was no other word for the blackmail and physical threats upon the Elves of Mirkwood -- had whispered that the Elven King had powers of mindreading, granted by Sauron. Riloi didn't believe such gossip, but... it was better to bury thoughts, anyhow, and what harm could it do?  
  
'Tell me again,' he growled at Riloi, settling back into his throne of twisted silver.  
  
'Your spy,' he half-choked on the word, 'Within the Last Homely House reported seeing Legolas, very much alive.'  
  
'And what of Prinela?'  
  
'Priynel we haven't heard of,' Riloi said less-than-truthfully. His heart skipped a beat, silvern blood beating fast and hard. If the rumors were right, and Thranduil had divulged into such matters of mindreading...  
  
...but he had not, apparently, as the elf settled back, satisfied. 'And what news of the ring?'  
  
'We have not traced it down thus far,' the warrior-messenger was able to reply, though he was once more terrified at the possibility of being caught. They /did/ have a promising lead, but it would be quite a journey.  
  
'You lie to me?' Thranduil said, almost idly, chilling eyes centered on Riloi.  
  
He was about to black out from the stress. Why him? Riloi swallowed, and attempted to stammer out a reply.  
  
'I heard of this 'Shire', and I most certainly know the tale of Bilbo Baggins. Fetch me the ring, and be quick about it -- and send out archers to bring back my son. You, yourself, will get the ring. Do you hear me?'  
  
'Yes, sire,' Riloi stiffly replied.  
  
'Dismissed,' the king stated, already looking contemplative -- possibly on what the future might hold, possibly what he would do with his renegade son, possibly on what he would go to Sauron for next.  
  
All Riloi knew, was that Thranduil with that thoughtful look on his face... well, it chilled his bones. Chilled his bones, and beyond: it chilled his very essence, his very soul.  
  
As soon as he was of a considerable distance away from the throneroom, he broke down, and prayed to the Valar that Thranduil would be taken from this realm before he could inflict more harm onto the elvish race: before he could finish his Master Plan with the Dark Lord.  
  
Before he could exterminate the age-old race of Elves.   
  
  
~~  
  
Setting: Rohirrim field, eastern border  
  
  
They rode on in companionable silence, northbound, as the sun was setting. The four rode a loose diamond: Estel took point, with the elvish archer riding to his port and back a length, Eqil to his starboard, loosely mirroring Legolas's positioning, and Priynel, back a distance.  
  
Eqil glanced at Estel's back, glanced over at Greenleaf.  
  
**| I wonder what he is thinking, |** the Rider contemplated. The elvish prince's braids were neat, his eyes were brighter than what Eqil had thought of as 'normal', but what he was fastly realizing /wasn't/ normal... Legolas looked alive, he realised. He looked alive, and even... even /bright/, when he was around Estel, when he talked to the son of Imladris's Lord.  
  
Priynel's thoughts weren't along the lines of Eqil's -- rather, the lagging warrioress was staring, face drawn, at a group of riders. She couldn't count how many; there were quite a few, but little more than a handful. They were big, yet small, fast, yet excruciatingly slow. It hurt her golden eyes to try to focus on them; she tried to think of why they looked so /off/.  
  
And as the blood drained away from startling features, she realized why.  
  
There were nine...  
  
...and they rode upon black horses. 


End file.
